Why Leaving The Drones Was The Best Decision Mike Noga Has Made

30 June 2016 | 5:16 pm | Ross Clelland

"They’d largely be people who haven’t seen or heard how charismatically crumpled he can be, and how good a lot of his songs are."

It’s like some people want to make it hard for themselves.

There would still be those who’d be pondering Mike Noga’s decision to exit The Drones drum-stool and become a singer-songwriter guy at the front with the guitar – but they’d largely be people who haven’t seen or heard how charismatically crumpled he can be, and how good a lot of his songs are. But then there’s the idea of fully establishing himself as a solo artist by going with a kind-of concept record – and one based on the sometimes darkly comic - but more often just plain grim  - play Woyzeck with its themes of military and medical dehumanisation, descent into madness, with a side order of jealousy-invoked murder. Sounds cheery, eh? First official preview of the whole affair is Nobody Leads Me To Flame (Cooking Vinyl) which comes as a near-rockabilly stumbling tumble through the forest, chased by…well, himself probably. 

Some perhaps try and conjure drama to make things more interesting to observers. The Strokes apparently had Oblivius planned as their next focus track, but claim the clip they had planned for it was ‘too political’. In a Trump-blasted America, that could mean just about anything. So they trade on that, going all X-Files/Men In Black/tinfoil hat conspiracy theory as they go with Threat Of Joy (Cult) as supposed second option. This allows them to make further cryptic ‘political’ statements in the background as the band – some of whom reportedly don’t actually enjoy being in a room together – can look as suitably cool, world-weary, detached, and just plain New York as much as they ever have. 

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Others just like to keep busy without much pretence. Tex Perkins seems on some sort of never-ending tour of late – whether as himself, or doing one of his homages to Lee Hazelwood or Johnny Cash. Just as you get used to one guise, he’s onto another. But in the case of The Ape, he’s just one part of a genuine whole. The other members of this simian combo number include much-credited rhythm section of Gus Agars (Tex’s Dark Horses, the aforementioned Noga’s Gentlemen Of Fortune) on drums, and bassist Pat Bourke (formerly Dallas Crane, currently Olympia). The surprise presence may be Magic Dirt’s Raul Sanchez, whose guitar provides the sinuous and slightly jagged groove for Mrs Perkins’ kiddie to lope over with familiar lugubrious relish. Give In (Big Cartel) is the entwining seductive thing you’d entirely expect it to be.

Circumstances can sometimes alter your music, or bring out the best in it as a loss is assessed. Scot Drakula are now a multi-national concern, as Dove decamps to America for love and marriage but stays part of the band. Skeleton Fever (Future Popes) has them being perfectly indie, and yet big – with some spaces left in the noise of it, perhaps to suggest the loss. They still have ‘garage’ among the descriptors on the website, but the melody and nuance to this would suggests it’s now a nice clean carport, where you park the Tesla.

Also running into some technical and logistic difficulties, the resurrected Screamfeeder. The visual you see here to illustrate All Over It Again (Poison City) are actually another plan B, after the first go – the all-very-professional performance clip, including Kellie actually being made to interact with the camera – something not often managed in their in their sometimes sporadic 20 years of existence was mostly lost in one of those classic hard-drive meltdowns with attendant fire incidents. Acts of god and technology aside, song itself has a lot of that balance of sweetness and muscle that makes the crunchy pop recognisably theirs. 

A guest can sometimes add the necessary humanity or individuality to make something better. Metronomy has over time distilled itself back down to Joseph Mount putting most everything together, and still making an oddly timeless electronica. Hang Me Out To Dry (Because) has him/they putting in the call to turn-of-the-century Sweden, where Robyn is engaged to add a feeling voice that fits near-seamlessly into the insistent and sometimes slightly discomforting racket that’s being made behind her. 

The many wonders of the The John Steel Singers are wandering around a synthy pop of another time too. Midnight At Plutonium (Plutonium Records) cruises in almost soulfully, but then shifts gears and gets kinda funky in a jumpy, slightly awkward, slightly whiteboy, unashamedly ‘80s, way. Scritti Politti to Blancmange perhaps - if either of those names mean anything to you. If not, off you trot - you know how to use Google.

Meanwhile straight out of Wollongong – well, via a recent tour to Europe to make the world aware of their existence, Hockey Dad appear to be working on the ‘It’s got to be summer somewhere…’ theory, as Jump The Gun (Farmer & The Owl/Inertia) comes with a light within its slightly self-conscious swing that goes slightly against the grain as we dive into the chill of July. It shines brightly, but not oppressively so, and shoots you through with a short stab of warmth before it drifts away. We kind of needed something like that.